


Objects at rest

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the hunt, Castiel has a request: he wants to see more cartoons. Coda for 8.08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects at rest

Sam's stretched out on his bed, resting on his stomach with his sock-covered feet on the pillow. For all that Sam looks so much older these days--looks older than Dean even maybe, in some lights, at some moments--he could still be twelve, the way his chin is resting on his arms. His hair got even more stupidly long over the course of a year. Dean would suggest cutting it except he's not going to have that argument, not with everything else on the boil, and Dean's come to the decision that if Sam wanted to cut his hair, Sam would ask, and that was that. 

They're in a motel room in West Virginia, and Dean's sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching a black and white movie featuring a rubber-suit monster with webbed feet. He should be cleaning the guns. Any second now he's going to stop eating this bag of popcorn and rinse his fingers of salt and artificial butter flavoring and get to work but he's kind of sleepy and this is one of his favorite cheesetastic old flicks. 

His brother's watching it too, with mild interest. They've seen this movie half a dozen times already, as Sam pointed out over burgers, but Dean calmly answered _your point?_ and Sam gave way silently, because yeah, Sam did get it, that was what Dean always did, watched the same movies over and over again. Maybe Sam forgot for a hot minute, what with them being separated for a year. Dean wonders if Sam and Amelia watched a lot of movies, if they liked the same movies, if they rewatched anything, and Dean has to push down the stinging flicker of a memory, of stuff he can't have, and can't have back.

"Hey," Dean says. "You…okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Sam frowns a little, because there isn't any immediate and evident reason for Dean to ask that, and Dean's not sure Sam's answer addresses what Dean really means to ask anyway. 

Maybe Dean should push, but instead he takes another handful of popcorn while the monster in the rubber suit on the TV screen lumbers towards the camera to the sound of screams. A few more minutes, and Dean will start cleaning the guns ( _Have to be always at the ready, brother, they'll jump us out of nowhere, you and hot wings better stay sharp_ ) because they had to be prepared, always, but damn it feels good sitting on a rug with the soft bedspread against his back, heat blowing through the vents, and Sam right there with him, at rest.

The movie goes to commercials and Sam reaches his fingers to scratch an itch on his shoulder, barely moving. He looks pretty comfortable where he is. There's something about him that seems more solid to Dean than he's been since Stull. Maybe it's just the year apart making Dean notice more, but he thinks there's more to it than that, only he can't quite untangle it.

There's the quick sound of wing beats, the curtains sway, and Dean's heart jumps.

"Cas?" Dean puts down the bag of popcorn.

Cas is standing by the window, unharmed as far as Dean can tell. His tie's backwards again, but his trenchcoat is clean.

"Hey, Cas," Sam says softly, raising his head. He props himself up on his elbows, still lying on his stomach. "We thought you …" Sam lets that go. "How's Fred?"

"He's contented. I left him listening to Bach's Prelude in C major. He seems more partial to Beethoven, however." Castiel's hands hang at his sides, as if he can't figure out what to do with them, shoulders stiff. "I've been playing chess with some of the residents there."

Dean gets to his feet, his instinct to move slowly, as if Cas were a stray that might startle. "It's good to see you again so soon, don't get me wrong, but…what's going on?"

"Do you mean generally, or right at this exact moment?" Cas says.

"Uh, I meant…either."

"Generally, I have no idea. I wish I did. Something seems not quite as it should be but I have no idea what just yet. Right at this exact moment…" Cas takes a step closer, stops, and bites his lower lip. "I'm not sure. I was just…I will return to check on Fred Jones very soon. But I--I wasn't exactly in the neighborhood, as they say, but still I…"

There's something bleak that shows in his eyes, revealed and then shielded as Cas's face schools itself back into a smooth soldier's composure.

The monster in the movie roars as the B-movie star heroine shrieks.

"Geez, Cas, for crying out loud, your tie," and Dean walks over. Cas doesn't seem startled, he stands and endures as Dean grabs the tie and rearranges it. Then Dean lets it fall flat against Castiel's white shirt, smoothes it under his fingers, barely touching, before stepping back. "You can't keep that damn thing straight, can you."

Castiel looks down at his tie. 

"Dean and I were just watching some old movie," Sam says, and Dean's relieved that Sam took the wheel and figured out what to say. "You can hang out if you want."

"Actually…" Cas moves further into the room. "If it's all right, I thought I might like to see more of those cartoons you showed me earlier." He sounds a little wistful, although Dean is probably imagining that. Then again, maybe he isn't. 

And c'mon, Cas can get any channel he wants on those TV's at the retirement home, Dean has no doubt about that, but Dean can't very well say to Castiel, _hey it's okay I get it, it's okay,_ can he? 

"Yeah, that's okay," Dean says, and rummages for the remote where it's half-buried beneath the blanket on his bed. It's more than okay, but Dean can't really say that, can he, or maybe he could.

Dean sits down on the floor again, and Sam folds his arms and leans his chin on the back of his hands. He yawns. After a moment of hesitation, Castiel walks over and settles onto the floor next to Dean, the bag of popcorn between them. 

"So many of these seem to be about faith," Castiel says, as a frog in a top hat dances and sings across the screen with all the flair of Gene Kelly. 

"Or the futility of it," Sam says, voice a little muffled from having his face propped on his arms.

"The persistence of it in the face of terrible odds," Castiel muses. "The fact that in the end, what matters is between an individual soul and God, even if there is no outside approval or verification from those around you."

"I always felt bad for the poor guy in this one. Singing frogs are never, ever a good sign," Dean says, reaching into the bag for more popcorn.

"Whoever finds the frog does seem to be cursed," Cas says, and Dean catches the dry tone in his voice, laced with a bitter aftertaste.

They haven't talked about what Cas thinks of his father lately.

"Everyone's cursed." Sam sounds tired, rather than merely sleepy. 

The cartoon ends and another begins.

"So the hunter is actually quite gentle at heart," Cas says after a while, talking with his mouth full of popcorn. "Yet he keeps trying to slay the rabbit anyway. Then he displays immense remorse when he actually appears to succeed." He leans forward, closer to the TV screen, the light and color playing over his face. "The use of music in this piece is inspired. Very dramatic."

Dean slumps down further, and finds his knee bumping against Castiel's, and Cas doesn't seem to mind.

They go on to the next cartoon. "This duck seems to have anger issues," Cas observes.

Sam snorts. "Understatement."

They keep watching.

"Amelia didn't like cartoons," Sam says after a while, words mumbled into his arm.

Sam hasn't told Dean much about her, this mystery woman Dean's trying hard not to resent. Dean's glad Sam had someone during that year he was alone, he really is, but his stomach still twists thinking Sam didn't even try--didn't try anything. 

"She loved old movies, though. The classic stuff, Jimmy Stewart and Bette Davis and Gary Cooper, The Thin Man series." Sam's speaking more clearly now, but voice still low, letting the sound of the cartoon partly cover his words.

Cas has gone still, hands on his knees as he tilts his head, listening to Sam, while Dean holds his breath, wondering if Sam will keep talking.

"Which is kind of weird. She wasn't exactly a romantic. That stuff kind of embarrassed her." Sam goes silent again.

They keep watching. Dean holds the bag of popcorn out to Sam, who waves it away. 

A hairy orange monster pursues Bugs Bunny, who tricks him into looking towards the audience, and the monster runs away in horror.

The popcorn's almost gone. Sam's dozed off, snoring lightly. If he starts drooling, Dean's getting out his smartphone and taking pictures.

Castiel brushes his fingers, sticky with salt and artificial buttery flavoring, against his slacks to clean them, and gets to his feet. "I should be on my way."

He seems less on edge now, softened. 

"Where will you go?" Dean asks.

"I'm not sure," Cas says.

 _Don't go_ , Dean wants to say. He shakes off the memory of Castiel shoving him away, fingers releasing his wrist with a violent jerk, the astonishing power of the portal yanking Dean through in a blink. Wants to say, _I don't care how bad you feel about what you did, you don't let go_ and _we need you_ and _I need you_.

"Take care of yourself," Dean says. 

_Come back_.

Cas looks down, right at him, meeting Dean's eyes. "I will," he says solemnly, before he disappears with a beat of wings.

Turning back to the cartoons, Dean watches as a bulldog walks around with a kitten on his back. He switches the TV off.

It's time to clean the guns.


End file.
